Here's a little story from Plato's
most famous book, The Republic. Socrates
is talking to a young follower of his named Glaucon,
and is telling him this fable to illustrate what
it's like to be a philosopher -- a lover of wisdom: Most
people, including ourselves, live in a world of
relative ignorance. We are even comfortable
with that ignorance, because it is all we know. When
we first start facing truth, the process may be
frightening, and many people run back to their
old lives. But if you continue to seek truth,
you will eventually be able to handle it better. In
fact, you want more! It's true that many
people around you now may think you are weird or
even a danger to society, but you don't care. Once
you've tasted the truth, you won't ever want to
go back to being ignorant!
[Socrates is speaking with Glaucon]
[Socrates:] And now, I said,
let me show in a figure how far our nature is enlightened
or unenlightened: --Behold! human beings living
in a underground den, which has a mouth open towards
the light and reaching all along the den; here
they have been from their childhood, and have their
legs and necks chained so that they cannot move,
and can only see before them, being prevented by
the chains from turning round their heads. Above
and behind them a fire is blazing at a distance,
and between the fire and the prisoners there is
a raised way; and you will see, if you look, a
low wall built along the way, like the screen which
marionette players have in front of them, over
which they show the puppets.
[Glaucon:] I see.
And do you see, I said, men passing
along the wall carrying all sorts of vessels, and
statues and figures of animals made of wood and
stone and various materials, which appear over
the wall? Some of them are talking, others silent.
You have shown me a strange
image, and they are strange prisoners.
Like ourselves, I replied; and they
see only their own shadows, or the shadows of one
another, which the fire throws on the opposite
wall of the cave?
True, he said; how could
they see anything but the shadows if they were
never allowed to move their heads?
And of the objects which are being
carried in like manner they would only see the
shadows?
Yes, he said.
And if they were able to converse
with one another, would they not suppose that they
were naming what was actually before them?
Very true.
And suppose further that the prison
had an echo which came from the other side, would
they not be sure to fancy when one of the passers-by
spoke that the voice which they heard came from
the passing shadow?
No question, he replied.
To them, I said, the truth would
be literally nothing but the shadows of the images.
That is certain.
And now look again, and see what
will naturally follow if the prisoners are released
and disabused of their error. At first, when any
of them is liberated and compelled suddenly to
stand up and turn his neck round and walk and look
towards the light, he will suffer sharp pains;
the glare will distress him, and he will be unable
to see the realities of which in his former state
he had seen the shadows; and then conceive some
one saying to him, that what he saw before was
an illusion, but that now, when he is approaching
nearer to being and his eye is turned towards more
real existence, he has a clearer vision, -what
will be his reply? And you may further imagine
that his instructor is pointing to the objects
as they pass and requiring him to name them, --
will he not be perplexed? Will he not fancy that
the shadows which he formerly saw are truer than
the objects which are now shown to him?
Far truer.
And if he is compelled to look straight
at the light, will he not have a pain in his eyes
which will make him turn away to take and take
in the objects of vision which he can see, and
which he will conceive to be in reality clearer
than the things which are now being shown to him?
True, he said.
And suppose once more, that he is
reluctantly dragged up a steep and rugged ascent,
and held fast until he 's forced into the presence
of the sun himself, is he not likely to be pained
and irritated? When he approaches the light his
eyes will be dazzled, and he will not be able to
see anything at all of what are now called realities.
Not all in a moment, he said.
He will require to grow accustomed
to the sight of the upper world. And first he will
see the shadows best, next the reflections of men
and other objects in the water, and then the objects
themselves; then he will gaze upon the light of
the moon and the stars and the spangled heaven;
and he will see the sky and the stars by night
better than the sun or the light of the sun by
day?
Certainly.
Last of he will be able to see the
sun, and not mere reflections of him in the water,
but he will see him in his own proper place, and
not in another; and he will contemplate him as
he is.
Certainly.
He will then proceed to argue that
this is he who gives the season and the years,
and is the guardian of all that is in the visible
world, and in a certain way the cause of all things
which he and his fellows have been accustomed to
behold?
Clearly, he said, he would
first see the sun and then reason about him.
And when he remembered his old habitation,
and the wisdom of the den and his fellow-prisoners,
do you not suppose that he would felicitate himself
on the change, and pity them?
Certainly, he would.
And if they were in the habit of
conferring honours among themselves on those who
were quickest to observe the passing shadows and
to remark which of them went before, and which
followed after, and which were together; and who
were therefore best able to draw conclusions as
to the future, do you think that he would care
for such honours and glories, or envy the possessors
of them? Would he not say with Homer,
Better to be the poor servant
of a poor master, and to endure anything, rather
than think as they do and live after their manner?
Yes, he said, I think that
he would rather suffer anything than entertain
these false notions and live in this miserable
manner.
Imagine once more, I said, such an
one coming suddenly out of the sun to be replaced
in his old situation; would he not be certain to
have his eyes full of darkness?
To be sure, he said.
And if there were a contest, and
he had to compete in measuring the shadows with
the prisoners who had never moved out of the den,
while his sight was still weak, and before his
eyes had become steady (and the time which would
be needed to acquire this new habit of sight might
be very considerable) would he not be ridiculous?
Men would say of him that up he went and down he
came without his eyes; and that it was better not
even to think of ascending; and if any one tried
to loose another and lead him up to the light,
let them only catch the offender, and they would
put him to death.
No question, he said.
This entire allegory, I said, you
may now append, dear Glaucon, to the previous argument;
the prison-house is the world of sight, the light
of the fire is the sun, and you will not misapprehend
me if you interpret the journey upwards to be the
ascent of the soul into the intellectual world
according to my poor belief, which, at your desire,
I have expressed whether rightly or wrongly God
knows. But, whether true or false, my opinion is
that in the world of knowledge the idea of good
appears last of all, and is seen only with an effort;
and, when seen, is also inferred to be the universal
author of all things beautiful and right, parent
of light and of the lord of light in this visible
world, and the immediate source of reason and truth
in the intellectual; and that this is the power
upon which he who would act rationally, either
in public or private life must have his eye fixed.
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